


i used to recognize myself

by ianmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US), Shameless - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Bottom Ian Gallagher, Emotionally Stunted Mickey Milkovich, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Illness, Top Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:36:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianmilkovich/pseuds/ianmilkovich
Summary: Ian gets diagnosed with bipolar disorder and his relationship strains.





	i used to recognize myself

**Author's Note:**

> i am new to the shameless fandom! i started watching it a few weeks ago and am patiently waiting season 9. straight away, the complexity of ian and mickey's relationship drew me in and now i'm hooked. 
> 
> this is my first gallavich one shot so please be nice! i obviously exaggerated the side effects of the medication for this and i do recognize that different medications affect people differently. this is my take on things and it doesn't involve svetlana or yevgeny. the timeline is fudged a bit too
> 
> i've been thinking that after this one, i'd write stories based off of one scene or one line, like "you're nothing but a warm mouth to me" and stuff like that. 
> 
> title from let it go by james bay
> 
> unbetaed and unedited

Ian Gallagher stared at his bedroom wall. It was the same sight - the  _only_ sight - he's seen since he was released from the hospital four days prior. The same faded wall, in the same messy house, in the same ghetto neighborhood, where he's lived his whole life. He's lived his whole life perfectly fine, so why are they telling him now that he's sick? 

 

He _feels_ sick. He  _looks_ sick. 

 

The meds make him so tired that he can't keep his eyes open. His first ones were bad enough, and when he was finally able to open his eyes, he flushed them. The new ones were worse. The new ones were harder to find, too. Fiona hid them good. The new ones made him feel surrounded by concrete.

 

When he finds a moment, he's going to read the warning label and see if the words  _this medication may help your alleged bipolar disorder, but they will definitely make it feel like you are drowning just below the surface. You will be able to hear and see and understand people, but you will be unable to answer or think for yourself. Take three times a day with a meal._  

 

He pulls the thin blanket further up his body and wonders if the words  _they will also make your boyfriend distant and weird_ are on the label as well. Even if they aren't, it sure feels like it. 

 

Ever since his diagnosis, he hasn't seen much of Mickey. He's hurt, but he expected it. Mickey Milkovich was not one for emotions or feelings or public displays of affection. Mickey wasn't the type to stick around for something so heavy. He  _thought_ Mickey was, and felt stupid. Maybe it was the meds making him emotional. 

 

They did that. 

 

He doesn't know how long he laid there, eyes at half-mast, not really seeing anything. His ears perked up when he heard a quiet knock at the bedroom door. He couldn't find the energy to roll over or croak out a greeting. 

 

It didn't matter. It wasn't even Mickey. It was Fiona. Smiling Fiona holding an orange bottle of meds in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She sat them both on his nightstand and sat herself on the edge of his bed. 

 

He felt her warm hand on his back. It was a welcome weight. He closed his eyes fully and imagined that it was Mickey's hand, attached to Mickey's body, laying right behind him. 

 

"How ya feeling?" Fiona asked, voice gentle but optimistic. She rubbed his back. It felt nice. 

 

He couldn't answer. His mouth opened but nothing came out. He felt that he might be able to speak soon, or get up and walk around, but this new round of medicine will prevent that. Tears burned at the backs of his eyes. 

 

"It's time to take your second one, Ian." She said, and he heard the rattling of the pills. He allowed himself to be helped into a sitting position and swallowed the pill. It got stuck halfway down and he had to drink the whole glass in one go. 

 

He handed it back to her and stared blankly. From his new position, he could see the hopeful glimmer in her doe eyes. It broke his heart. He wondered if she still saw the old Ian. And if she didn't, what the new Ian looked like. Was he as scary as he imagined? Or was the new Ian as scary as he felt? 

 

"Do you feel like getting up?" Fiona asked. "We can take a walk? I know Liam's been itching to get out and play for a bit, but with Lip gone and Debbie dealing with all of her shit, no one's really been around and had the time. I feel bad." 

 

So did he. 

 

He looked at her and gave his head a slight shake. "No." He answered. Speaking didn't consume as much energy as it had before, nor did it leave him breathless. His voice just took longer to get out. 

 

Fiona wanted to frown, he could tell, but she didn't. "Okay." She patted his leg. "Can I get you something to eat?" 

 

Another weak head shake. "Makes me sick." 

 

"Still?" She asked abruptly, eyebrows raising. "You've been on the pills for four days. The nausea should be wearing off." She grabbed the bottle and looked at the back. Sometimes he hated Fiona's constant worrying. But sometimes he appreciated it. He'd never really thought about how much shit she did for them. She was taught to worry about them at a very young age. 

 

He lifted his hand and put it on top of hers, the one holding the bottle. "Don't worry about it." He tried to smile. "It'll be over soon." 

 

She nodded. "Right. Sorry Ian. I'm just worried."

 

He tried to laugh, but it came out a little huff. "I know. You and everyone else." 

 

She grinned and nodded. It felt good to be looked at normally for once. "We are, you know. Worried. But we all love you, okay?"

 

He nodded and scrunched his face. Just thinking about asking about Mickey made him want to cry.  _What was wrong with him_? "Have..." He took a deep breath. The medicine was kicking in and he was sleepy. His bones felt weighted, like he wouldn't be able to support himself in a few moments. He settled for, "Mick?" and an earnest look. 

 

She squeezed his knee and put an optimistic look on her face. "Not yet, sweet face. I'm sure he's just busy." She pulled that out of her ass. If Mickey Milkovich was busy, someone was either getting the shit kicked out of them or shot dead. "I can have Lip go over later and see if he's home?" 

 

Ian closed his eyes and shook his head. He moved himself back into a laying position and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. Again, he was facing the same wall, prepared to spend the next eight hours in bed again. 

 

"Is there anything else I can get you?" Fiona offered, voice gentle. If she kept speaking, he could easily fall asleep. 

 

"Under my bed." He said, eyes heavy. "Sweater." 

 

Behind him, Fiona frowned, but did as she was asked. She thought it was a strange request until she pulled out the familiar sweater. It was Mickey's, thick and comfortable, but worn out and probably smelled of the boy her brother was missing. She wasn't around him enough to tell. 

 

"Is this what you want?" She asked, draping it around Ian. It must have been, judging by the way he cuddled around it, pulling it closer to his body. She stood, pocketing the bottle of meds. The last thing she wanted was for him to down them. "Do you want anything else?" 

 

He shook his head and burrowed further under the blanket and the sweater. He wanted to say,  _bring me Mickey and maybe my sanity. In that order_ , but didn't. The sweater was a welcome weight, but it did little to satisfy his craving of Mickey. It would have to do.

 

"Thanks." He sighed, eyes closed. 

 

Fiona stood behind him a little bit longer, just staring at her brother. She'd always known one of them was going to get Monica's crazy, but she always assumed it would be Carl, not sweet Ian. Ian was the last person who deserved it. Not that Carl deserved it, but still. 

 

When she heard his breathing even out, she leaned over and kissed his temple. It was something she'd done a thousand times before, and would probably continue to do so long as she had siblings to care for. She ruffled his feathery hair and left the room, making sure to close the door. The pills were pretty strong, but fuck-all went on in their house and at any given moment, a brick could be thrown through a window or Frank could come in on a drunk rant. 

 

So better safe than sorry. 

 

Downstairs, Liam sat on the couch, watching a slasher film. Fiona just rolled her eyes. She'd given up on trying to find an age appropriate show. Besides, he'd just end up watching whatever scary movie or porno Frank or Carl left on. 

 

"Ian?" Liam turned to look up at her. He looked hopeful. It almost broke her heart. Liam was the last Gallagher and she wanted to keep the hope alive in him for as long as possible. Soon, Liam would grow up and realize how shitty things were. 

 

"Sorry, bud. He's asleep. But you know what?" She leaned over the couch and looked optimistic. "I can walk you to Kev and V's and you can play with the girls? You know they love you." 

 

He thought about it, but shook his head. He'd rather watch TV than play with a few babies. 

 

"Sorry, Liam." Fiona apologized. "I'll finish up and we can go play, okay?" She patted his head and headed to the kitchen. Just as she entered, the backdoor swung open and Debbie walked in with Carl. 

 

Fiona put a finger to her lips and gestured upstairs. 

 

Debbie pursed her lips. "Is he sleeping?" She asked, tossing her backpack onto the table. It knocked over a few empty cans, which went clattering to the floor. They all paused, waiting for Fiona's reaction. In the end, she shrugged. Ian could probably sleep through a tornado in his bedroom. A few cans wouldn't wake him up. 

 

"Yes, he is." She opened the cabinet and pulled down the empty can holding their squirrel fund. "I'm going to go grocery shopping in case he's hungry when he wakes up. Can one of you watch Liam?" 

 

Both Debbie and Carl looked at their youngest brother, who was fixated on the TV. 

 

Carl shrugged. "The TV looks like it's doing a better job than we would." He said. And while it was true, Fiona still hated it.

 

"I have homework." Was Debbie's excuse. 

 

"Oh, you mean homework you can do sitting right next to him?" Fiona asked in a way that didn't give Debbie a choice. She pocketed some bills and put the can back into the cabinet. "Now, if Ian wakes up hungry, there's some food in the fridge but I want to make him something." 

 

"What's the point?" Carl asked. "The meds make him throw up like ten times a day." 

 

"Maybe today will be different." Fiona said. "Who knows?" She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. On her way out, she pointed a finger at them. "Debs, watch his meds. If he throws them away again, let me know. Carl, watch Liam. Be good!" 

 

And with a quiet slam of the door, she was gone. 

 

-

 

 _do you have Mickey's number?_  

 

Lip tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his shoe. He typed back a response to Fiona, which was  _no, I don't. Why would I have Mickey's number_? and headed to the train station. It had been a hell of a week at school and it was finally the weekend. He was hoping for it to be relatively relaxing, but he must have forgotten that he was a Gallagher and shit always happened to the Gallaghers. 

 

Now Fiona was roping him into some shit with Mickey, when he figured that Mickey would already be at their house with Ian, who was probably still in bed. He should have known Mickey wasn't the staying type. 

 

His phone pinged again and he looked down.  _Go by his house and see where he is._ He rolled his eyes.  _Isn't he with Ian?_ he typed back. 

 

 _no._   _he hasn't been by. Ian's been calling him like crazy but no answer_ was Fiona's quick response and he frowned. Mickey and Ian were usually attached at the hip, which was strange to see from a Milkovich. He wondered what happened. 

 

 _Check his phone_? He texted back, taking a seat on the train. He settled in and chewed his lip. 

 

 _No. Invasion of privacy. and I also don't want to see any dirty texts they've more than likely been sending each other. Plus Ian's phone has a passcode and I don't know Mickey's birthday or their anniversary or what other gay shit it might be_. 

 

Lip laughed to himself and texted back.  _fine. the last thing I want to do is go to the Milkovich house and bother them but it's for Ian. What if Mickey's not there? I'm not searching the whole south side for his ass._  

 

 _you don't have to. ask Iggy for his number if he's not there_. 

 

Lip tossed his head back and sighed. When the fuck did they become so tangled up with the Milkovich family? 

 

-

 

Lip puffed on a cigarette and climbed the steps to the Milkovich house. He rapped on the door twice and stepped back, holding the cigarette between his lips as he warmed his hands up. 

 

The door swung open a few seconds later. It was Iggy, wearing a cut off flannel and holding a can of soup with a spoon sticking out of it. "What?" He asked, shoveling some food into his mouth. 

 

"Uh, Mickey here?" Lip asked. 

 

Iggy ducked back inside and yelled, "Mickey!" before disappearing. 

 

From inside the house, Lip heard, "What?" 

 

"It's for you!" Lip heard Iggy yell. He was left on the porch, frowning. If one thing is for certain, it's that no one in the Milkovich family had the hospitality gene. 

 

"What?" Mickey appeared at the door, frowning. "The fuck do you want?" 

 

"Uh, I'm not sure? Fiona sent me over." Lip answered. 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes. 

 

"I guess you haven't been by to see Ian?" He asked, tucking his free hand into his pocket. The other pulled his cigarette from his mouth.

 

"Fuck's sake." Mickey muttered. "Is that what this is about? Tell Fiona I've been busy." 

 

"And what do I tell Ian?" Lip asked, getting straight to the point. He was never one to beat around the bush, and this was the guy who was somehow deserving of Ian's love. He wasn't about to let Mickey hurt him. 

 

Something crossed Mickey's face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "I don't care." Mickey said. "Tell him whatever you want." 

 

Lip nodded. "Got it. So when he wakes up out of the lithium induced coma he's been in for the past four days, I'll make up some bullshit story about how you'd rather be done with him than admit you're scared." 

 

"Fuck you." Mickey spat. "You don't know - " 

 

"I know plenty." Lip interrupted. "Fiona told me he's been calling you. You know he can barely stay awake long enough to take another pill, but for some reason he's calling you. Funny how that works." 

 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Mickey stepped out onto the porch and closed the door. He wasn't afraid of Iggy hearing any of this, because Iggy knew he was gay and he even liked Ian, but he didn't want Iggy asking questions. 

 

"It means that somehow in the haze he's been in, you're all he can think about. And how that doesn't even matter to you." Lip answered. "I didn't come here to start a fight, Mickey. I came as a favor to Fiona, who's concerned about Ian. My baby brother. Your boyfriend." 

 

At the word boyfriend, Mickey's eyes flashed up to Lip's face. He and Ian hadn't put a label on things. Maybe they both knew already and that's why neither one of them had said it out loud. Maybe it sounded weird and foreign to him. Maybe he wasn't ready for that.

 

"We're not..." He trailed off, biting the inside of his lip. His heart was beating in his ears. He hated the way Lip's eyes were understanding instead of angry. He should be angry on Ian's behalf. He should have come here to fight. He didn't want Lip to understand because then that meant Lip and probably every other Gallagher never expected much from him. 

 

He wanted to prove them wrong, but stood still instead. Said nothing instead.

 

Lip nodded and took a step back. "Cool. So when my brother wakes up and the first thing he wants to do is call you again, I get to tell him that he doesn't have a boyfriend." He reached forward and patted Mickey on the arm. "Thanks, Mick." 

 

He turned around and headed back down the steps. When he was halfway down the sidewalk, he turned back around and yelled, "Did he ever have a boyfriend?" He got no answer, just a stricken look on Mickey's face. 

 

He turned around and headed home, shaking his head. Fucking Milkovich family. 

 

-

 

 

Ian spat the toothpaste out of his mouth and put his toothbrush away. He was getting really sick of throwing up because of the medicine he had to take. Was it a forever thing? Would he always get sick from it? 

 

"Fiona!" He called as he left the bathroom. He paused in the hallway and eyed his bed. He was really tired, but wanted to go downstairs and socialize with the family he hasn't really seen in two days. He saw his cellphone on the bed and wanted to grab it, in case Mickey called, but knew if he got anywhere near the bed, he'd lay down for hours. 

 

He decided that if Mickey called, he would leave a message, and he headed downstairs. The farther down he got, the more he heard and the more he smelled. Someone was cooking something, and it made his stomach turn. He hadn't had an appetite at all in the past few days. 

 

"Ian!" Debbie was the first to see him and she hopped up to give him a hug. "Are you feeling any better?" 

 

"Not really Debs." He answered, wrapping her in a one-armed hug. "Where's Fiona?" 

 

Debbie hopped back over to the table and shrugged. "I think she went to the Alibi." 

 

Ian looked over at the clock on their stove. "It's almost nine. Is she drinking?" 

 

Debbie snorted. "No. She went to ask V something." She went around Ian to the stove and stirred something in a pot. "I guess she was making you dinner but you're not hungry." 

 

Ian shook his head and lowered himself into a rickety chair. "No, definitely not." 

 

Debbie looked over at him, sympathy written all over her face. "I wish the meds didn't make you sick." She said quietly. 

 

"Me too, Debs. Me too." Ian propped his chin onto one hand. He was starting to get sleepy, but had one more pill to take, and knew he had to fight through if he ever wanted to be a functional member of society again. He sat there until the backdoor flew open and Fiona came in, followed by Lip. 

 

"Ian!" Fiona lit up when she saw him, and she stooped over to hug him. "How ya feeling?" 

 

He shrugged once. "I'm...fine." He settled on. Was there really a word to describe how he felt? "Hey, Lip." 

 

Lip gave him a weird look. "Hey, Ian." He squeezed his shoulder as he walked to the stove. There, he shared a look with Fiona. Ian wondered what that was about. 

 

After a few moments, Fiona turned to him, a little too happy. "Are you hungry?" She offered. 

 

"No. I actually came down to ask you to read the back of the bottle of pills I have." He requested. 

 

She looked concerned. "Why? What's wrong?" 

 

"Nothing really." He said. "I just want to know when the nausea will stop." 

 

Her eyes softened. "I'm sorry they're making you sick. Let me go get them." She left the kitchen and he was tempted to follow her, to see where she hid his meds, but he was tired. 

 

He looked at Lip, who was staring intently at him. He frowned. 

 

"What do you see in Mickey?" Lip asked abruptly, and Ian was a little taken aback. 

 

"What do you mean?" Ian looked surprised. 

 

"Shit, sorry." Lip cursed. "I didn't mean to blurt that out." 

 

"Why did you ask me that?" Ian pressed. His heart was beating a funny rhythm in his chest. Something was up. Lip and Fiona had both acted like they knew something, and he had a bad feeling it was about Mickey. 

 

Lip rubbed at the back of his neck before sighing. "Fiona asked me to go over to Mickey's, to talk to him." He began. "He, uh, he was there. And we talked." 

 

Ian tried not to get hopeful. "About?" 

 

This time, Lip pressed his lips together. It was something he did when he was trying to figure out the nicest way to tell someone something shitty. Ian's heart sunk into his stomach. 

 

"You, mainly." Lip answered. 

 

"Is he coming over?" Ian asked, picking at a loose thread on his long-sleeved shirt. He looked down at his lap. 

 

Silence. 

 

"No." Lip finally said, quietly, as if somehow the volume and tenderness of his voice would soften the blow. "No, he's not." 

 

Ian chewed his lip for a moment before looking up. "Probably not ever, huh?" His own voice was quiet and Lip looked as if he was being killed or could kill. Ian couldn't really tell. He just knew it hurt. 

 

"I'm sorry." Lip offered. 

 

"Don't be. It's my fault for falling in love with a Milkovich." Ian smiled. He probably looked crazy, but life was funny that way. He saw the way Lip's face and demeanor changed when he said what he said, and wondered how much of a beating Mickey was going to endure if he met Lip on the streets anytime soon. 

 

Fiona chose that moment to walk back into the kitchen, forehead scrunched as she read the back of the bottle. "It doesn't say how long anything will last. Just lists a few side effects." She popped the cap and poured one into her hand. "Here. Last one of the day." 

 

He took it, and when Lip brought him some water, he downed the stupid thing and stood. "I'm gonna go lay down." He said, walking past them. Lip and Fiona weren't saying anything, so he knew they were waiting until he was gone before they started the Mickey bashing. 

 

Upstairs, he fell into bed and pulled his blanket around his chin. He blinked up at the ceiling and then glanced over at Carl, who was frowning at his phone. 

 

"Everything okay?" He asked. 

 

Carl shrugged. "G-Doggg wants me to do another drop." He said. "Heroin." 

 

Ian raised his eyebrows. "Shit's heavy, dude. Better be careful." He warned. They'd all learned a long time ago that there was no telling Carl what to do. They could only guide him in the safest way possible. 

 

"I know." Carl jumped down from his bed. "Is dinner ready yet?"

 

"I think." He answered. "Will you close the door on your way out?" 

 

Carl nodded, and seconds later the door clicked and Ian was left to his own thoughts. He thought about Mickey, and how stupid he was to be heartbroken when he knew this was coming. He hated how he was surprised that Mickey was doing this. How this is how they broke up, when they might not have really been dating. How he loved and trusted Mickey and how stupid he was expecting the same in return. 

 

He knew from the beginning that Mickey wasn't one for feelings or emotions. Hell, he'd barely just come to terms with the fact that he was gay. But Ian also knew that there was more to Mickey than he let on. He knew that Mickey was full of emotions and while he didn't express them in the proper ways, he always felt cared for when they were together. Mickey might not have ever said  _I love you_ , but he's shown it in other ways. 

 

He rolled to the side and grabbed his phone. He was staring to get drowsy, and before he became unresponsive for the next eight hours, he wanted to send a text. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he didn't care. 

 

_i miss you_

 

_sorry_

 

He pressed send before he could chicken out and put his phone on his nightstand. He rolled over and faced the wall again, closing his eyes and hoping to fall asleep before he realized that he would never get a response. 

 

-

 

 

 "I say we kill him." Carl suggested a mere hour later, when they had all finished eating and were sitting in the living room. Fiona was pacing worriedly, something she did often, and Lip was chain smoking. Not because of Mickey himself, but because of the affect he was having on Ian. 

 

"We can't kill everyone, Carl." Fiona sighed, rubbing her forehead. 

 

"We can try." Carl grinned. "I have connections." 

 

"No." Fiona and Lip said at the same time. Then Lip continued. "Keep your G-Doggg and whoever else out of this. As far as they're concerned, you're an only child." 

 

"I will be if I don't do this drop." Carl mumbled, sinking back into the arm chair. Fiona paused and gave him a look, but decided against asking about. She could only deal with one crazy Gallagher problem at a time. 

 

"What did he say when you went over there?" Fiona asked Lip, walking over to pluck the cigarette from his fingers. She inhaled deeply and sat on the coffee table. 

 

Lip gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Not much of anything, actually. Very Milkovich in his answers. He basically told me to make up any excuse to tell Ian. Looked kind of spooked when I referred to Ian as his boyfriend." 

 

Fiona took another puff and passed the cigarette back to Lip. "How spooked? Like still in the closet spooked?" 

 

"Like Terry Milkovich is his father spooked." Lip huffed a laugh. "That kid is never coming out of the closet." 

 

"Terry is in jail." Fiona stated. "For life, I think. Mickey can do whatever he wants." 

 

Lip shrugged again. "When you're scared, you're scared." He finished off the cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. They would have to empty it soon. But until then, he lit another cigarette and passed it to Fiona. 

 

"It just doesn't make any sense." Fiona shook her head. "Normally I wouldn't go this far into Ian's love life, but I think this is the one time that I need to." 

 

Lip agreed. "Yeah, but with him practically comatose and Mickey being Mickey, we're not going to get much out of them. You know when I talked to him earlier, he seemed okay with it? Like, he was sad, but looked as if he expected it. How fucked is that?" 

 

Fiona made a sad face. "Was it the same with you and Mandy?" 

 

"Not really? She was the Ian in that situation, I guess." Lip paused. "I guess I can sort of relate with Mickey Milkovich. I never thought I'd see the day." 

 

Fiona gestured wildly. "So what did you feel when you were with Mandy?" 

 

"I wasn't really with her. She maybe thought we were, but I didn't. I liked her, but things with Karen were shitty and Mandy was there, and easy. For awhile, but she took my mind off of things and was cool to talk to." 

 

"Was she crazy?" Fiona asked, glancing towards the ceiling. "Not that I'm saying Ian is crazy. He's not. He's perfect. But was she..." She finished the sentence with her eyes. 

 

"A Milkovich? Emotionally stunted, spoke with her fists?" Lip chuckled. "Yeah, pretty crazy. But she cared. A lot. Applied to Carnegie Melon and shit under my name for me. She wanted me to get out of here." 

 

"Miss her?" Fiona asked softly. 

 

"Sometimes." Lip nodded. "It just sucks that I miss her after she's already left." 

 

Fiona reached over and patted his leg. She knew how he felt. She thought about Jimmy-Steve all the time. She always wondered how her life would be different if he was still here, or if she went with him on his adventures. She didn't feel regret necessarily, just sad that she didn't get to say everything she needed to say when he was still here. 

 

They sat in silence until they heard movement on the stairs. It was Liam, rubbing at his eyes. 

 

"Why are you awake buddy?" Lip asked. 

 

"I can't sleep with the light on." Liam complained, hopping down the last few steps to go to where Lip was sitting. 

 

"There shouldn't be a light on in your room." Fiona said. Carl was downstairs, playing on his phone, and Debbie had her own room. Ian was dead to the world. 

 

"Ian's lamp." Liam said. "He's reading." 

 

Fiona and Lip shared a look. "He's awake?" They both asked at the same time, standing. Lip held Liam on his hip and they followed Fiona up the steps. Sure enough, Ian was laying on his side, reading a book. His eyes were at half-mast, but they were open. 

 

"Ian?" Fiona stepped into the room. "Are you feeling okay?" What she really wanted to ask is if he actually took his pill or spat it out when she wasn't looking. 

 

He glanced up and laid the book down. "Yeah." He answered. "A bit tired." 

 

"Did you...is the pill working?" Lip asked, placing Liam down on his bed. Liam, like the good boy he was, crawled under the blanket and laid down. 

 

"I think I'm getting used to them finally." Ian answered, sitting up. "I hope." 

 

"Let us know if we need to change them." Fiona reminded. "We have to go back to the doctors in a week to see if we need to tweak anything." 

 

Ian shrugged when normally he would scowl or roll his eyes. Maybe he was just sad over his breakup. Or maybe he was just tired. "Okay." He laid back down. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll get up early and go for a walk." 

 

Fiona smiled. "That would be nice." She stepped forward and ruffled his hair. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

 

"Of course." He smiled. His eyelids fluttered, a tell-tale sign that he was about to fall asleep. They said goodnight to Liam, and to Carl when they passed him in the hallway, and headed downstairs. 

 

"Think he took it?" Fiona turned to Lip, hands on her hips. She exhaled deeply. 

 

"I think so. If there was ever a time he'd want to sleep, it would be today." He sat on the couch and lit yet another cigarette. "Think they'll have to readjust his meds?" 

 

Fiona shrugged and sat. "I have no idea." She put her head in her hands and watched as Lip inhaled on his cigarette. "What do you think? Do you think we're too concerned with this?"

 

Lip shook his head. "No. You think that because you've had to parent all of us. You're dealing with this shit right now as a parent and as a big sister. You don't know which part of yourself to side with." 

 

"And I hate it." Fiona agreed. Then, she smiled at Lip. "Carnegie Melon, huh?" 

 

Lip pushed her lightly and handed her the cigarette. "No way. I'm not leaving this mess." 

 

Fiona took the cigarette and leaned back in the chair. "Lip," She said, staring at the ceiling, blowing smoke. "One of us has to." 

 

-

 

Not even twenty minutes later, there was a quick, short knock at the door. Fiona lifted her head and gave Lip a questioning look. He sighed and stood, followed by Fiona. She waited until he had grabbed the bat from the stairs before opening the door. 

 

Lip lowered the bat. 

 

Fiona frowned. 

 

"Mickey?" She asked, crossing her arms. "Can we help you?" 

 

Mickey's eyes darted briefly to the bat in Lip's hands but wasn't really worried. Even if he couldn't outrun the oldest Gallagher brother, he probably wasn't a match for the rage Lip would act out with the bat. 

 

"Ian here?" He found himself blurting out. He hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt. He felt like he actually might vomit onto their porch. 

 

Fiona lifted a brow and Lip answered. "Well, it depends on how you're asking. If you're asking if he's here physically, then yes. But mentally? Not really. He's been asleep all day." 

 

Mickey held out his phone. "I got his text." 

 

Fiona squinted at the screen in front of her. "That was sent two hours ago." She deadpanned. "You're just now getting it?" 

 

Mickey shrugged and lowered his arm. 

 

"Hold on." Lip elbowed past Fiona. "Did that say sorry? What the fuck does Ian have to apologize for?" 

 

"He doesn't - " Mickey began. 

 

"What the fuck are you doing to him to make him apologize for something he can't control?" Lip fired. His fingers flexed against the bat. He was itching to use it, but didn't. 

 

"I haven't done anything to him!" Mickey protested loudly. "I'm just as mad about it as you are!" 

 

Fiona stepped forward. "Ian's asleep, Mickey. You can come back tomorrow." 

 

Mickey took a breath. "Listen. I know you two hate me and I can live with that. But I can't leave until I know if Ian hates me or not." 

 

"What if he loves you?" Lip asked harshly. "Then what?" 

 

Mickey froze, and had the same stricken look on his face that Lip saw earlier. His eyes were wild and unsure and his body was pulled tight, anticipating a fight. He looked around, as if someone might have overheard. When he deemed the coast clear, he focused his eyes on Lip. 

 

"Does he?" His voice was uncharacteristically quiet for a Milkovich. He looked scared. He looked human. 

 

"That's not for me to tell you." Lip stepped back into the house and leaned the bat against the wall. He reappeared behind Fiona, who was a mixture of emotions. She felt for Mickey, but had to side with Ian. 

 

"Will you give him the chance to tell me?" Mickey asked. Fiona thought that maybe she saw a flicker of hope flash through his eyes. 

 

"Will you leave if we say no?" Fiona asked. 

 

Mickey shook his head. "No." He stood firm. His shoulders squared and hands in his pockets. He was ready to fight for what he wanted. 

 

Fiona eyed him a few more seconds before stepping aside. "He's upstairs, asleep. Liam and Carl are too. If you can be quiet, you can stay. If Ian wakes up and you two talk, take it downstairs if you're going to get loud." 

 

Mickey's cheeks colored. 

 

"Not like that." Fiona rolled her eyes. "But if you two do...you know, don't do it in the bedroom. You can do it literally anywhere else, but not in front of Liam and Carl." 

 

Mickey nodded and turned to the stairs. He got to the third step before turning around. He looked nervous. "How is he? I mean, with the meds?" 

 

"I think good." Fiona answered. "We'll know on Friday if they need readjusted." 

 

Mickey nodded and headed up the stairs, as quietly but as quickly as he could. His hands were shaking and his veins were thrumming with excitement as he neared Ian's bedroom. He pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. From the nightlight that Liam had to have on, he was able to tell that Ian's back was to him, and he was pressed close to the wall. 

 

He closed the door behind himself and stepped further into the room. When he got to the edge of Ian's bed, he kicked his shoes off and shrugged his jacket down his shoulders. It fell to the floor but he didn't care. He lowered himself carefully behind Ian, until they were spooning. He tucked his nose into the back of Ian's neck and inhaled. He'd missed the clean, sweet scent of his lover. 

 

He froze when Ian made a noise and shifted backwards. His body was searching for Mickey's. Even in his sleep, Ian needed him. He waited until Ian was done and then he wound his arm around Ian's waist and settled. His mind had stopped racing and his body was relaxed. Sleep found him better than it had in his whole life. 

 

-

 

It was three on the dot when Mickey woke up. He squinted and blinked his eyes open. It took a few seconds for him to adjust to the darkness, but he saw Ian sitting up, staring down at him. His heart skipped a beat. Ian looked so exhausted, like he shouldn't be awake at this hour. 

 

"I thought you weren't coming over." Ian's voice was barely above a whisper. 

 

"I wasn't." He admitted, sitting up himself. They were face to face, only inches apart. It was the most intimate they'd been in what felt like years. Mickey didn't like it. He missed the closeness. 

 

"Then why?" Ian demanded. Even in the dimness of the room, his green eyes lit up. Mickey could stare at them all day. 

 

"Because...I'm not afraid anymore, I think." Mickey managed to say. It was hard for him to express any emotion other than anger, but when it came to Ian, he found himself willing to do so. Somehow, with his redheaded boyfriend, he wasn't afraid of anything. 

 

"Good for you." Ian muttered. "Where was this four days ago when I had to be admitted to the hospital for twenty-four hours?" 

 

Mickey said nothing but studied Ian's face. The pale skin, with the barest hint of freckles, the red hair. Green eyes that could see right through his bullshit and into his soul. He could see the exhaustion in the dark circles underneath Ian's eyes. He could see it in the way his long eyelashes stuck together from sleep. In the way his voice was low and breathless. 

 

"I didn't really come here expecting a therapy session." He began. "But looks like it's gonna happen regardless." 

 

Ian snorted and pulled the blanket up some more. Mickey offered up the part he was taking, not caring if he froze to death in the middle of the night. Just as long as Ian was warm. 

 

"It's not." Ian laid back down and rolled back over, facing the wall. "You can see yourself out." 

 

"Don't do this, Gallagher." Mickey tugged at the blanket. "I'm trying to have a gay moment here." 

 

"Newsflash Mickey, all moments are gay moments with me." Ian's voice was muffled, but he understood every word and even smiled. "Because I'm gay." 

 

"So am I." Mickey said. He let go of the blanket and ended up drawing little patterns onto Ian's back. "And I even had a boyfriend, I think." He felt Ian stiffen at the words, but kept going. "I probably fucked it up big time, though. It's not a good sign when your boyfriends brother shows up at your house, you know. Or threatens you with a baseball bat later that night."

 

Despite himself, Ian smiled. And only because he knew Mickey couldn't see. 

 

"I'm not denying the fact that I deserved to have him beat me with it. Hell, I think Fiona wanted to take a swing too. I would have laid there and taken it like a bitch, too." Mickey continued. "They're pretty pissed at me. I should have gone to the hospital with you, and I should have stayed after the diagnoses. I have no excuse other than that shit is crazy. If I can finally admit that I'm gay, how do you think it feels being told your boyfriend is bipolar?" 

 

"It must suck knowing someone with this disease." Ian said quietly, into his pillow. "It must suck even worse to actually have it." 

 

"Shit," Mickey's hand paused the drawing. "Sorry. Fuck." 

 

Ian wiggled his shoulder, silently asking Mickey to continue to draw on his back. Mickey couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. 

 

"It felt wrong going home. Everywhere I looked, I saw you. Even my pillow smells like you, man. What the fuck is that? It doesn't even smell like anything really, but every time I tried to sleep, it was just.. _you_. You're under my skin. You're everywhere." He sighed and glanced over to Carl's bed. The last thing he wanted was for Carl to be awake and listening to everything he said. 

 

"Sorry." 

 

"I never said I didn't like it." Mickey muttered. "I can never explain to you what it's like, growing up with Terry as a father, and then being gay? The first time I fucked you was me signing my own death certificate. At home I felt scared, but with you I felt free." He pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd tried not to cry for the past twenty years of his life, and now here he was, laying in bed with his boy, about to cry. "I've been so afraid to be myself that I think I started to lie." 

 

He glanced down at Ian's still form. All he really wanted to do was lay back down and curl up behind Ian, but before he could, he needed to say what was on his mind. 

 

"Mainly to myself, you know. But that was okay. But I lied to you, too. And that shit hurt me more than anything. Christ, the look on your face when I wouldn't kiss you or when I would talk about fucking other people. When I said I'd never love you. Fuck. Just about killed me. Ian, I do love you. But I was protecting you, or at least I thought I was. I can take my dad's beatings, but you...I would kill him before he could touch you." 

 

He took a shaky breath. He knew Ian already knew that his dad beat them, but he didn't know that Mickey was the one who took the brunt of it, who would take his drunk dad's attention away from Mandy or Iggy or whatever other unfortunate Milkovich happened to be in Terry's line of fire. After that, he was the only one who Terry directed his rage towards. 

 

"Someday I'll tell you more about it. When it's not three in the morning and when you're used to your meds. We can sit down and talk, or if you never want to see me again after tonight, that's fine too. It'll hurt like a motherfucker, but I'll understand." 

 

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. That was probably the most he's ever spoken in his life, and without a doubt the most he's ever talked about his home life, but this was Ian. If there was someone who understood, it was Ian. Ian, who was still silent. Ian, who wasn't giving any indication that he'd heard or that he wanted Mickey to stay. 

 

"I think you might be asleep." Mickey mumbled, climbing carefully out of Ian's little bed. He hovered over the bed and kissed Ian's temple before shoving his shoes on and picking up his jacket. "Please call me tomorrow." He said to no one. He hoped that maybe Ian's brain would absorb it and the first thing he'd do tomorrow was call. 

 

He took one last look at Ian before turning to leave. And he made it to the door before he heard it. 

 

"Mickey," It was Ian, quiet and soft spoken as always. 

 

Mickey turned, chewing his lip. His heart was pounding and he felt nauseous and he just might die right here on the floor. 

 

"I love you too."

 

And that was all he needed to cross the room again, barely kicking his clothes off before slotting himself next to Ian, who had turned. Their lips met and, oh God, how could he have ever refused to kiss Ian? Kissing was like coming home. Ian was Mickey's home, whether he could fully admit it to himself or not. 

 

Mickey cupped Ian's face when they were done and kissed his forehead. "I love you a lot, you know." It was easier to say. "And I will never forgive myself for not being here." 

 

"It's okay." Ian mumbled, face against Mickey's chest. "I forgive you for it." 

 

And really, that's all that mattered. He wrapped his arms tighter around Ian and planned to never let go. He was right where he needed to be; where he belonged. 

 


End file.
